


Stop running

by Laramie



Series: Things you said [8]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-20 09:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4782254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laramie/pseuds/Laramie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thommy at Christmas. Doubts, fears, playfulness, presents and love.</p><p>Written to fill a dialogue prompt from abbys-jam-juggler and a request for Christmassy Thommy from todowntononanimpala.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop running

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning for a food-related plotline. I don't think it's particularly triggering but ymmv.
> 
> Feedback is always lovely and concrit on this fic would be gratefully received.

**December 1923**

Things always got a bit hectic in December. Between polishing the infrequently-used best cutlery, putting up Christmas decorations and still completing all his usual duties, Jimmy spent the month getting progressively more exhausted.

"I hate Christmas," he would mutter to the ceiling as he finally flopped into his bed each night. In those moments, he meant it: he hated the tinsel and the growing pile of presents under the unfeasibly large Christmas tree (none of which were for him) and the angel who sat atop it, smiling gently down on them all with its hands clasped reverently together.

But it wasn't true, not really. He hated the nobility for their unearned joviality, he hated Carson for ordering him about to the point of collapse, and he hated himself for the relative poverty that forced him to do what the man said; but he did not hate Christmas. The tinsel, baubles and candles he and Molesley put up did, he knew, look very fetching, and made him wish that he could have shown his mother. She had always made his Christmas special in some way, even the year that dad had just lost his job and their celebrations had been utterly free. She had scavenged holly - pricking her hands countless times - and other decorations for the house. His gift had been a homemade Bible hanging.

She had made many over the years. The one he received as a gift that Christmas had said: "What is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." Above had been "OUR LORD" and below "OUR LOVE". His favourite had always been a large one that read: "Those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint."

However, the one that now lay hidden under his pillow was a small one, fraying at the edges, on which was sewn in beautiful writing: "Love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God." He had read it countless times in the last few months, wondering how far the sentiment extended. Wondering whether it included Thomas.

Apart from his parents, Jimmy had never spent Christmas with someone he really cared about. He was not good at making close friends; he was too afraid of how he would feel if he lost someone whom he loved as much as he loved his parents. Last year, he had spent Christmas night with Thomas. They had sat in Thomas's room with bellies full of stolen sweets and a (purchased) bottle of whiskey. Jimmy had felt aglow with Thomas's company, with his attention. It had seemed, at the time, as though that meant that Jimmy was safe. Thomas was more attached to him than he was to Thomas - so Thomas would not want to leave him, and Jimmy would survive it if something happened to Thomas. He still believed that he would survive it - he had got through his parents' deaths, within a few months of each other, and anything was possible after that - but he was no longer so sure that he would want to.

He knew that was an unhealthy attitude, but he could not help it. Thomas was his only genuine friend now that Raff from Lady A's had given up writing to him, and life without Thomas would be bleak. It would be like that year Jimmy had shunned him, but worse, because that was before Jimmy truly knew Thomas, before Alfred left, before Ivy realised what he really wanted from her, before he had driven most of the staff away. No mistake, he was on speaking terms with them all - but he knew none of them would count him as a friend. He did not count any of them as friends either, and usually that was the way he liked it. Now, though… now he would have liked to have someone to confide in about Thomas, _other_ than Thomas, no matter how obscurely he had to put his thoughts. Maybe if his parents were around, he could have talked to them.

One afternoon, midway into the month, Jimmy, Thomas and Molesley sat resting their legs and drinking tea before the afternoon rush began. Thomas kept glancing out of the door in the way that meant he was once again considering his month-long plot to acquire some of the mince pies Mrs Patmore was baking continually and sending upstairs without the servants getting so much as a lick. The thick scent of sweet pastry and hot, cooked raisins permeated the downstairs, cut through with a sharp citrus tang.

"Maybe you should just order the hallboy to give you one," Jimmy said, into the silence.

Thomas looked up at him quickly and half-smiled before he brought his face under control.

Molesley also looked up, his expression confused.

"You're not the most discreet, are you?" Thomas asked rhetorically. "Anyway, I did that last year, but now Mrs Patmore has threatened the boys with no Christmas pudding if any of them go astray."

"What are you after?" Molesley asked neutrally. "One of the ginger biscuits?"

"They don't _have_ to tell her, though," Jimmy pointed out, ignoring him.

"I know that, and you know that, but those kids wouldn't last a second under Mrs Patmore's interrogation and then they'd be in for it."

"Shortbread?" Molesley tried.

"Mince pies," Jimmy corrected him, if only to stop him guessing.

"Remind me never to plot anything important with you," Thomas said casually. "You'd blurt it out to the first person who asked."

 _Like the fact that I'm with_ _ **you**_ , Jimmy thought ironically. He was keeping _that_ quiet perfectly well.

Then he realised that Thomas had said it deliberately, to set him up as someone who could not keep a secret so that no one would think him capable of keeping theirs. He was a clever man, Thomas was. Sometimes, anyway.

* * *

With a week until the big day, Jimmy had still not bought any Christmas presents - not that he had many to buy. He planned to send cards to his cousins Max and Tim (twins, both footmen with an English family who had moved to France several years ago), but the only present he planned to buy was for Thomas. Perhaps if he was still trying to win Ivy over, he might have bought her one; but he wasn't, so he wouldn't.

He wrapped up warmly on his half-day - it had become bitterly cold in the last few days - before he went out on a mission to find Thomas a Christmas present. He took the bus to Ripon, in the hope of finding something interesting there. His breath froze in the air as he walked along the streets, crystallising on the blue scarf he wore around his neck and pulled up over his chin. In his coat pocket, Jimmy's gloved hands were balled tightly into fists. Nevertheless, shivers overtook him, and he rather regretted his decision to go out. Still. He had to find something to give to Thomas.

The only question, he thought, as he hunched his shoulders, was what. Should it be a 'you're my best friend of two years' kind of present, or a 'you're my lover of two months' kind of present? And what was the difference? Jimmy found it hard to think of gifts - but then, he had not really had much practise.

The cold and his uncertainty and resultant grumpiness (he did not like to be unsure about anything) made him doubt himself. Ivy flickered back into his thoughts; if he had still been trying to win her over, he thought again, he might have bought _her_ a present. But that was nothing to do with the spirit in which his mother had given gifts, or his father. Jimmy did not want to give a gift just to impress Thomas; he wanted to please the man.

Sick of the questions clouding his thoughts, Jimmy took a break from the frosty air outside by dropping in to a pub, where he won himself a pint and a whiskey playing darts (he also had to buy pints for two other men, but on the whole he had come out ahead).

His cheeks now rosy, it was almost a relief for Jimmy to step out into the cold, at least until it sapped the last vestiges of warmth from him all over again with humbling swiftness. There was less than an hour until sunset, so Jimmy walked briskly, partly to get finished before it got dark and partly to keep the blood flowing through his rapidly freezing limbs. In the end, the presents he chose were fairly mundane: a packet of cigarettes and a slightly more expensive brand of pomade than that which Thomas usually bought. It was all he could find that he knew Thomas would like and that did not feel too much.

He carried them home in his coat pocket, staring out of the bus window and wondering whether it would be too cold to snow later.

When he finally reached Downton, after walking back from the village, he was hot in his winter coat but his nose and ears felt as though they might drop off from frostbite. He went first into the servants' hall to warm himself by the fire, dropping his coat on the rocking chair so he could hold his hands out to the flames. Miss Baxter was in there, but she did not acknowledge him beyond a small smile as he entered the room.

Just as Jimmy was digging out a handkerchief for his dripping nose, Thomas came through the door. Jimmy smiled at him, pleased to see him despite the difficulty of buying him a present.

"Afternoon, Miss Baxter, Jimmy," Thomas said, making for the rocking chair.

"Hello." Jimmy watched the orange glow of the fire flickering over his fingers.

"How was Ripon?"

"Not bad," Jimmy replied, not wanting to mention that he had been looking for Thomas's Christmas present. He wondered when Thomas had bought his present, sure that he would have done so already.

Behind him, Jimmy heard Miss Baxter pick up her sewing and leave the room.

"I've got a plan," Thomas said, when she was gone. "Not very elegant but it'll do."

Jimmy hummed in acknowledgement, wriggling his tingling fingers.

"I'll come down after everyone's asleep and snatch one of the ones she's made for the morning."

"What is it with you and those mince pies?" Jimmy asked, exasperated and affectionate and beginning to wonder if he oughtn't just buy Thomas an enormous stack of freshly-baked mince pies for Christmas.

"Never underestimate a well-made mince pie," Thomas said gravely, making Jimmy chuckle.

"It seems pretty simple to me," Jimmy pointed out, referring to Thomas's plan. "Have you not tried this plan before?"

"Once," Thomas said. "But it turned out she had stayed downstairs late to make a sauce ready for the next morning. So I had to disappear upstairs again. Anyway, she rarely leaves them out overnight; usually they go up the day they're made."

Jimmy pictured Thomas creeping downstairs in the dark like a child looking for - well, mince pies - and snorted. "Wake me up, I want to come."

"Will do."

Now that he was warm, Jimmy decided to take his coat and purchases upstairs. He turned towards the rocking chair to pick up his coat, only to realise that Thomas had sat on it. Jimmy was rather surprised that Thomas had not sat on one of his own presents; then he saw that the bottom corner of the coat, which featured the pocket, had fallen off the edge of the seat. "You're sitting on my coat."

"Yes?" Thomas quirked his eyebrows in challenge.

"I need my coat."

"Are you planning to go out before I have to get back to work?" Thomas asked coolly.

"No, probably not…"

"Then I don't see a problem," Thomas concluded, smiling smugly and pushing back with his feet to make himself rock slowly.

* * *

A few months ago, when Jimmy was first realising that his feelings for Thomas had become something other than platonic, he had assumed that he was attracted to some femininity in Thomas's being. It seemed the only sensible explanation for his emerging (growing?) attraction to someone of his own sex. He had thought that he must be seeing some gentleness or prettiness in his friend, and responding to that.

After bringing himself off to the thought of Thomas's evening stubble grazing his inner thighs, he was forced to abandon that notion. In any case, he could find little that was truly feminine about Thomas; at work, Thomas was refined and controlled, while in his own time he could sometimes be coarse though somehow still elegant - but he was not feminine. And yet, Jimmy was drawn to him.

All this, for some reason, was what first flashed through Jimmy's mind when Thomas shook him awake that night. Thomas had one hand pressed to Jimmy's mouth, but when he saw that Jimmy's eyes were open he removed it and smiled. One side of his face was deeply shadowed, the other lit gently by the candle he must have left on Jimmy's bedside table.

"Mince pie time," he whispered.

Jimmy sat up and swung his legs out of bed. He winced as his bare feet hit the cold floor, noticing that Thomas, sensibly, was already wearing shoes to keep the floor from leeching heat out of the soles of his feet.

"C'mon, Jimmy," Thomas prompted when Jimmy took a moment too long to orient himself.

"All right, all right," Jimmy grumbled, pulling on his coat (which Thomas had, in the end, returned) and his shoes; the kitchens were a cold place to be in the middle of the night.

He followed Thomas out the door on tiptoes, keeping close in order to stay within the soft globe of illumination emanating from the candle Thomas carried. They crept past Mr Carson's door; Jimmy fought the urge to laugh at the thought of him snoring away while Jimmy and Thomas passed by. When they entered the stairwell, it was pitch black and draughty. The candle caught the metal-shine skeleton of the handrails. It felt as though they were in some vast creature's gullet, watching its ribs pass as they descended.

The journey from attic to kitchen had never exactly been a short one, but it seemed to stretch on much longer than usual that night. Jimmy looked down into the unseen blackness and felt the grip of dizzying vertigo from not knowing how high up they were. _They will soar on wings like eagles,_ he thought vaguely. How easy it would be to misstep and go tumbling down, down, down in the dark until he hit the cold stone floor of the servants' corridor…

Luckily, his racing thoughts seemed invisible to Thomas, two steps below him, his quickened breathing easily attributed to hurrying down the stairs. Jimmy let out a sigh of relief when they reached solid ground at the bottom, finally lifting his eyes from his feet.

He started violently at the ghostly sight of two figures ahead of them, pale and indistinct. But it was only himself and Thomas reflected in the mirror at the bottom of the stairs.

"All right?" Thomas asked in a low voice, lifting the candle up between them to shine on Jimmy's face.

"Yes," Jimmy said at once. "Let's get on with it, you weird man."

Thomas just smiled and turned to continue on his way to the kitchen.

"Where are they?" Jimmy breathed. He was not sure that they strictly needed to whisper any more, but he could not overcome the compulsion to do so.

"Under a bowl on the table," Thomas whispered back.

They slipped through the kitchen door and Thomas reached out to flick on the light.

"UHHNG!"

They both leapt back at the loud grunt. Jimmy nearly jumped out of his skin. Someone moved quickly, flailing their arms. Two wide, surprised eyes looked back at them from the other side of the table.

"Mark," Thomas said evenly, breathing very deeply. "What on earth are you doing in the kitchen at this hour?"

"Mrs Patmore gave me half a crown to stay and keep an eye on the kitchen," the boy said rapidly, eager to keep himself out of trouble.

"Why?" Jimmy demanded.

"She said there's a little rat that wants to steal her baking so I have to stay here and keep any rodents away and report anything I see in the morning. I'll have to tell her about you and Mr Barrow coming down here. Were you coming to get milk to help you sleep?"

Jimmy had bristled on Thomas's behalf at the "rodent" remark, but Thomas had just looked amused.

"Yes, that's just what we're doing," Thomas lied smoothly. "But I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell Mrs Patmore we were here."

"I-I think I have to," Mark said, looking conflicted. "She said she'd give me another half-crown in the morning if I do it right. I've still got to buy my parents a Christmas present."

Jimmy tried not to think about how quickly Mrs Patmore could draw the wrong (and yet somehow the correct) conclusion from news of him and Thomas creeping about together, even if it seemed to be a possibility that did not cross Mark's mind. The boy had probably done his fair share of sneaking about with other hallboys for mischievous yet innocent reasons. Jimmy certainly had, when he was a hallboy. Their job requirement never to be seen or heard came in handy sometimes.

"If you keep it to yourself, I'll give you _two_ half days the week after Christmas instead of one," Thomas bargained.

Of course. Thomas had been a hallboy once too, and he knew that there were some things money could not buy.

Mark considered the offer for a moment, but it could not have been a hard decision because even if he took it, he could still collect his second half-crown from Mrs Patmore. He was making no loss.

Plus, Mr Barrow was his direct superior, while Mrs Patmore was not.

"All right then," Mark said brightly. "Thank you, Mr Barrow."

"Right," Jimmy said. "I don't know about you, Mr Barrow, but I'm going to go up to bed now."

"Good idea, Jimmy," Thomas said, and they bid Mark goodnight in unison and left the kitchen.

They reversed their journey through the corridor and up the stairs. As they reached the second landing, Jimmy gave in to the desire to chuckle weakly. He felt as though someone had picked him up, turned him upside down and shaken him rapidly.

"What?" Thomas hissed, once again trying to keep his voice down as they approached the Upstairs floors.

"All the things we could get caught doing together in the middle of the night, and we get caught trying to steal mince bloody pies."

Thomas met his eye in the dim light. They both collapsed into desperate, nearly-silent laughter.

* * *

Christmas day went off as smoothly as Christmas ever could. Lord Grantham got a little too… _merry_ and Lady Mary got a little too melancholy, but the children enjoyed themselves.

After dinner, the servants lingered in the servants' hall. Although Christmas was a time for family, many of them had none, and no one was allowed to take time off to be with them. As such, in this time of need, they had gathered together to be a crowd, at least, though not a family, and some people who were close enough to be friends exchanged gifts. Jimmy gave Thomas his cigarettes, saving the pomade for later, and Thomas thanked him sincerely. In return, he received two back-issues of one of his favourite magazines.

Thomas gave Baxter a hair comb, receiving a black notebook from her. Anna came over and gave Thomas a small parcel; Jimmy watched him unwrap a bar of milk chocolate with a pang, suddenly painfully aware that Thomas was the only one to have given him a gift.

Thomas handed over a present for Anna. She had insisted that her present was from both herself and her husband, but Thomas's was clearly only for her; it was a small glass crystal hanging on silvery thread.

"It's lovely," she told him warmly. "I'll hang it in the living room window. It will look beautiful when the sun shines on it." She smiled softly. "Thank you, Thomas."

Thomas smiled awkwardly, looking at the table. Jimmy could tell that he felt uncomfortable, but luckily Anna seemed to sense it as well; she turned to Jimmy and said briskly: "Now then. We bought a little gift for you, too."

Jimmy blinked at her. "I didn't get you anything," he said, sounding more blunt than he had intended.

"That's all right," Anna replied, undeterred. "We don't give in order to receive." She pressed a small parcel into his hand, wrapped in brown paper. "You've been… much kinder over the last few months," she continued. "Mr Bates and I wanted to extend the hand of friendship, and to say that we hope it continues."

Jimmy looked down at the small parcel, overwhelmed, and made no move to unwrap it.

"Open it," said Thomas quietly, rocking his shoulder into Jimmy's.

Jimmy looked up at him, rendered speechless in his surprise. People never bought him gifts. _I think I'm making a friend,_ he thought, wishing he could say it to Thomas aloud, in private. _I don't know what to do._

 _I know,_ Thomas's eyes seemed to say. _I understand._

Jimmy cleared his throat and dropped his eyes back to his gift before unwrapping it slowly. It was a pack of playing cards with pictures of the kings and queens of England on the faces. It was twee, and boring, and not the sort of thing Jimmy would have bought himself at all. He was touched anyway. "Thank you," he said in a small voice.

"You're very welcome," Anna replied. "Mr Bates and I are getting off home now, so I'll wish both of you goodnight, and merry Christmas."

They echoed her good wishes and Jimmy watched her return to her husband. She was smiling. The two Bateses left together, followed by a cloud of kind words from all present to warm them on their way home.

"You look like someone could knock you down with a feather," Thomas remarked.

"I feel like it," Jimmy admitted. He thumbed through the pack of cards for James the First of England (the Sixth of Scotland). "Here," he murmured, slipping it along the table to Thomas. "I'll never play with the silly things; you might as well have him."

Thomas looked pleased, as Jimmy had known he would. Thomas liked to have little mementos.

Everyone remained downstairs for a little longer, gathering the energy to go up to bed. The atmosphere was relaxed and informal; the air full of multiple conversations on various light topics or wistful reminiscences of Christmases past.

"Christmas is for the young, first and foremost," Jimmy heard Mrs Patmore say at one point. Mrs Hughes murmured in agreement.

Shortly after, Thomas yawned hugely. He chuckled a little at himself. "I think it's time I was off to bed," he said. "Goodnight, all. Merry Christmas."

A chorus of "merry Christmas" returned to him. Jimmy watched him go, a sleek, elegant figure in his black uniform. As he moved out of sight, Jimmy put his arms on the table and leant his chin on them, begrudging the twenty minutes he would have to wait to join Thomas.

"Jimmy, Mr Molesley, I think it might be bedtime for you too," Mrs Hughes said. "You've had a long day."

"Quite right, Mrs Hughes," Molesley agreed, while Jimmy looked round at her, thanking his lucky stars. He had never been happy to be sent to bed before, but tonight he could only be glad to get to Thomas that bit sooner.

Mrs Hughes, in her seat at the end of the table, winked at him. Jimmy stared. Mrs Hughes smiled softly, turning away and laying one hand on Mr Carson's arm. Jimmy pushed away from the table, plunged into the cold water of reality. He and Thomas had been so careful; did Mrs Hughes know about them?

Jimmy ambled out ahead of his fellow footman, letting Molesley make their farewells and leaving with barely a word of his own. He made his way upstairs, heading for his own room, only to realise that Molesley was heading for Thomas's and knocking on his door.

"Night, Molesley," Jimmy said, pausing by his door to see what Molesley was up to.

"Goodnight, Jimmy," Molesley rejoined, glancing over his shoulder.

Jimmy went into his room but did not completely close the door, wanting to eavesdrop. The murmur of voices reached his ears, but he could not make out what they were saying, so he gave up and changed into his pyjamas. He sat on his bed, forcing himself to count to a hundred before he took Thomas's pomade out of his drawer and very quietly crossed the corridor to Thomas's room. Molesley had gone. Thomas was back inside, changing into his pyjamas; he was currently taking off his jacket with his back to the door.

"What did Molesley want?" Jimmy asked, going over to him. He slipped his arms around Thomas's waist and rested his chin on Thomas's shoulder. Despite being spooked by Mrs Hughes' actions, he had been desperate for some contact with Thomas all day.

Thomas covered Jimmy's hands with his own. "You'll never believe it," he said, sounding amused. "Look over there." He dipped his head in the direction of his bed.

Though he examined it carefully, it took Jimmy a few seconds to identify what Thomas was referring to: there were two mince pies sitting on his bedside table.

"He gave you mince pies."

Thomas stepped away and resumed changing. "That he did."

"But - why - how…?"

"He asked Mrs Patmore, because he heard us talking about it." Thomas was unbuttoning his cuffs now.

"He just _asked_ her? Ugh. I bet he didn't tell her who they were for."

"Apparently, he did, and she just handed them over." The shirt came off; Thomas folded it before reaching for his soft pyjama top.

"No point stealing them after all, then," Jimmy said, going over to sit on Thomas's bed just to have an excuse to look away from the sight of Thomas changing for a moment; the image of Mrs Hughes winking was rattling his brain again. "You could have just asked her."

"Oh no, there definitely was," Thomas countered sincerely. "She only gave them to him because she knew it would annoy me. Old Molesley got 'em where Thomas Barrow failed."

Jimmy frowned. "You mean she knows you've been trying to steal the mince pies?"

Thomas blinked at Jimmy as though Jimmy had missed something important. "Of course she does. It's practically tradition by now. Why do you think she gave Mark a crown to watch the kitchen the other night?"

"Oh." Jimmy took a moment to absorb this. "Fair enough. Can I have one?"

"Help yourself."

Jimmy grabbed one and stuffed it into his mouth before Thomas could change his mind. Not that he had any intention of letting Thomas rescind the offer, but there was no chance for argument if he was actually unable to return it. It tasted good: sweet and soft and gooey. Once he had swallowed the last of it down, he said: "I think Mrs Hughes knows."

There was no need to specify what; Thomas took one look at his grave expression and surmised correctly.

"It'll be all right," Thomas promised. He picked up the other mince pie and ate it in three bites.

"It won't be," Jimmy said, fidgeting with the paper in which the mince pies had been wrapped. "We've been really careful but she knows already. She sent me up here right after you and _winked_. It's only a matter of time before everyone else finds out, and we'll be ruined." The words were tumbling from his mouth in his fear, making him want everything to just stop, stop, stop. "Maybe we shouldn't do this; we'll be caught, and if we don't work out it'll all be for nothing -"

"Jimmy!" Thomas interrupted. He had crossed the room and now stood in front of Jimmy, taking Jimmy's restless hands in his own. "Jimmy… can't you see that this is good? She knows and she accepts us. She's on our side. You need to stop running from this. I know I'm not the only one who feels it."

Jimmy looked up at him, trying to take deep breaths. "You _know_?"

Uncertainty flickered across Thomas's face, but it passed quickly as he said staunchly: "Yes. I _know_."

"How can you know?" Jimmy asked. He himself was always so unsure.

Thomas moved round and sat next to Jimmy on the bed, his body angled towards Jimmy. He had not released Jimmy's hands. "You're afraid of me leaving you. You bought that piano music to play for me because I said I liked the composer."

Jimmy listened attentively. His heartrate slowed.

Thomas chuckled slightly. "You were _so jealous_ of Isaac. And every time you see me, I catch you smiling…" He took Jimmy's chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, as though admiring his face. With his thumb, he caressed the corner of Jimmy's mouth. "The sweet one that makes you look like an angel, instead of the tyke you really are."

That very smile spread over Jimmy's face now. It was oddly affirming to hear the evidence of his feelings laid out before him by the only person he would trust to observe them - the object of those affections himself. He became very calm, because he felt that if Thomas could see it then it must be beyond dispute.

"That's how I know you…" Thomas paused. "Feel something for me."

"That's how you know I love you," Jimmy corrected him quietly. It was so clear to him now; he wondered how he could ever have doubted it.

A slow smile lit up Thomas's face. He looked on the verge of tears.

"I won't doubt it any more," Jimmy promised. "It's me and you, I swear."

"I love you, too," Thomas said. "I know people might say bad things to you, but there's nothing evil in it. It's just… us."

Jimmy nodded and leaned in for a kiss, sweet and gentle and with a hint of spices clinging to Thomas's lips _. It's just us_ , Jimmy thought. _It's just love._ _And love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God._

_**Everyone.**_


End file.
